Man of His Word
by somethingsdont
Summary: Eric and Calleigh have a little vertical fun. Total PWP. Response to hiphuggerfics LJ community prompt 6.


A/N: I originally posted this only on LJ because I didn't think ff dot net allowed NC-17 fics, but since nobody's checking, here it is for archiving purposes.

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He pushes her against the wall, likes the way she shoves back, blonde hair splayed wildly across her face. She's got a crazed look, like she's surprised that it's progressed this far. He's not, though, so he runs his fingers roughly down her side and slips them under her top. He finds skin, soft skin along her waistline, moves higher to find the bottom of her bra, runs thumbs over the top, smiles when a hardened peak can be felt through cotton. 

She arches her back at his touch and scrapes her nails across his arms, breathing heavily. She grasps a fistful of shirt and yanks until crashing lips seek heat, find heat and tongue and teeth. She moans into his mouth; his tongue darts in and out, flicking across swollen lip, smooth enamel.

He bucks his hips against hers, once, to let her know just how much he needs this, and her eyes roll to the back of her head, and why the fuck were they still clothed? She sets out to change that, tugs the bottom of his shirt, and he lifts his arms to help her. Shirt tossed to the side, her hands roam over his chest, touching him everywhere, and he responds by grinding his hips into hers. She can't help it, moans, feels the cool wall pressed against her back and the warm body, _his _warm body, pressed against her front.

He's fiddling with her buttons now, and he wants to kill the guy who was a big enough asshole to come up with blouses, with the ridiculously small buttons not suited for unbuttoning. He starts at the top, undoes three before he grows impatient and pushes the blouse off her shoulders, peppers the skin there with sloppy kisses.

She unbuttons one more for him, and it's enough to push off, and he does, pushes it to her waist, decides to deal with it later because there's a more pressing matter at hand. He runs a wet tongue between her breasts, and she's arching again. He expertly reaches a hand behind her and unclasps her bra, a whole lot easier than her damn blouse. Fabric falls to reveal round breasts, aroused nipples.

He brings a tongue to one, swirls, loves the moan he receives in return, does it again and again, until she presses her palms against his cheeks and pulls him up, needing his lips against hers. She bites his lip, not enough to draw blood, just enough to elicit a tiny yelp, and his adrenaline is pumping through his veins. He never imagined she'd be this rough, but the prospect turns him on, and he searches out her tongue with his own.

His hands find the zipper of her pants and he pulls, and the button is a snap-on, so he snaps it open and rolls the pesky clothing halfway down her legs. She kicks them aside and returns the favor, finding his zipper hard to maneuver, and he groans, because her hand is running up and down, along where he needs it the most. Finally unzips, unbuttons, and his pants are looser than hers, except at the groin, and with one small push, they slide down his legs.

She doesn't waste any time, shoves her hands into his boxers, finds what she's looking for, wraps one palm over the head, the other grips the base of his shaft. He pushes against her hands, urges her to move them, but she squeezes, once, and stops. He groans in frustration, but two can play this game, and he sticks his hand into her panties, finds her clit and rolls two fingertips over in small circles, and she stares straight at him and breathes hard, and he doesn't think he's ever seen her eyes quite _this_ green before.

He reaches a little further, feels moisture, imagines burying himself deep in there and shivers. Impatient, she undoes two more buttons on her blouse and snakes it down her body, grabs the sides of her panties and hastily removes them, reaches for his boxers to do the same, manages despite his hands still on her, fingers so close to her entrance; she lifts her hips to urge him on, and he complies, eases two, then three fingers into her, feeling her breath hitch against his chest.

He starts a slow, torturous movement, but she doesn't want that, and her hand is suddenly on his, guiding him, pumping his fingers in and out, in and out, and she's crying out, making little throaty noises that sound like bliss to his ears. He tries harder, tries to outdo himself, outdo every single person who's ever been this intimate with her, and as she arches again, buries her head into his neck, he decides that they're the biggest fucking idiots for letting her go.

She's losing control, and he's going at just the right pace, his thumb rolling just the right way, once, twice, and _oh!_ and she doesn't need to tell him to do it again. He feels her building up, wants to make this the most violent orgasm she's had in a while, maybe ever, so he kneels down, and before she can protest or process what the hell's going on, he touches his tongue to her clit, and she gasps, her head falling back against the wall. She's almost there, and he knows this, so he brings his mouth to her, sucks gently on the swollen nub. She moans, and he repeats the gesture, _hard_, pushing his fingers deep, and her whole body shudders, falling forward, her hands find his shoulders and clutch them for support, as she calls out his name, and the way she does it is almost enough for him, too.

He continues moving his fingers inside her, alternates tongue, teeth and lip against her clit, wants her to ride out her climax as long as she possibly can. Her breathing is erratic, and she tries to recover, but moments later, his fingers become too much once more, and she comes again, her inner muscles convulsing around his fingers, and she's sure she's died and gone to some erotic heaven, because it's never been _this_ good before.

He knows it's time to give her a rest, so he slows down his movements and pushes himself up off his knees. She's still leaning against him, hands on his shoulder, and she moves them to the back of his head, pulls him down again, assaults his lips with her own, tongue poking out between gasps of hot breath.

She moves a hand to his cock, smiles against his lips when she realizes just what she's done, and he groans in response, bucks his hips into her hand, groans again when he slides through her closed palm. She pulls him to her entrance, rubs the tip of his cock against her still-swollen clit and moans in pleasure.

He can't take it anymore, brings his hands to her outer thighs, holds them in place as he pushes the head into her, appreciating how wet she still is. He pushes deeper, grunts when he realizes how tight she is, keeps pushing until she's taken him in. He starts moving immediately, hips thrashing, a little rougher than he had wanted to be, but he can't help it, and she's not complaining, her eyes closed, face scrunched up in concentration, lips parted, and he darts a quick tongue into her mouth, groans when she responds.

But the height difference is starting to become an obstacle, so he tightens his grip on her thighs and lifts them, lifts her up and pins her against the wall, continues pushing in, pulling out in a feverish waltz of desperate hips. She bends her legs and hooks them around his waist, clenches thighs and calves and pulls him impossibly closer. And the friction is so fucking exquisite, she's panting, and his heavy breath tickles her neck.

She's never let anyone have this much control over her, but he makes her forget, makes her wish he'd always dominate her this way, throw her against a wall and pound into her, like he's doing now. He uses the wall as leverage, holds her in place with one hand and moving hips, brings the other up to her breasts and pinches a nipple, and she moans, rolls her hips against his.

He's _so_ fucking close, wants to take her with him, returns his hand to her thigh, lifts her higher, decides he likes this new angle even better, as he thrusts deep into her, and for the third time, she's approaching the edge, nearing her peak. She reaches for his lips, wants to be kissing him when she comes, and he obliges, of course he obliges, his tongue brushing demandingly against hers.

He plunges into her with reckless abandon, knows she doesn't care that he's being a little too forceful, and the very fact that she's letting him do this to her, that she's _enjoying_ this, is a turn-on in itself. He tries to hold out a little longer, and he's losing it, losing it inside her, but he inhibits himself just enough to let her climax first, and she does with a loud _OH_ into his mouth, and she's squeezing her legs tight around his body, and everything clouds over for him as well, as his whole body quakes, rumbles, and he's surprised he manages to hold her up, but he does, only barely, because she's biting down on his lip and grinding her body against his, riding out waves of ecstasy.

The haphazard rhythm of their intertwined hips slows to a stop, and only then does he see her, really _see _her, and she looks inhibited for a moment, withdrawn, like she's only now realized what they've done. She squirms, loosens her legs, and he releases his grasp on her thighs, watches her slide down the wall. Her legs, weakened from the physical exertion, buckle slightly under her weight, and she stumbles a little. He gives her a hand, helps hold her up, pulls her toward him, and she relaxes into his embrace.

He guides her to the bed, pushes her gently, urges her to lie down, and she complies, still too bewildered to object. He pulls the comforter up around her, covers her pale skin, leans down to plant a kiss on her forehead, turns to leave, but she stops him, pulls him into bed with her, grunts when the bed dips under his weight.

She buries her face into his neck, and he drapes a lazy arm over her waist, hand resting on her hip.

He's almost asleep when he feels soft kisses along his neck, up and along his jaw line, finally his lips, slow and sensual, and her hand sneaks between his legs and strokes him softly, and he's bucking his hips. She's ready again, and he's been ready for years, smiles into the kiss, runs fingertips down between her breasts.

"What's your record?" he asks, pulling away slightly, and she doesn't know what he means, so he has to clarify, "Orgasms in one night; how many?"

Her cheeks flush, and she giggles. "Five times," she replies thoughtfully, "but I may have lost count."

"I can do better," he murmurs, flipping her onto her back, ready to prove to her that he is a man of his word.


End file.
